


Intersection

by orphan_account



Series: Adventures in Post-Apocolyptia [1]
Category: Fallout 3, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Complete, Fallout AU, Gen, Mild Gore, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two stories intersect, and are more related than either fully realize. Fallout AU, Oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intersection

_I'm tickled pink_  
That things are rosy  
And skies are blue once again-- 

The boy continued to rummage through the cans, humming as he did. He looked carefully at an unopened one, appraising it. The label had long since peeled off, leaving only the dull aluminium. Turning the can over in his hands, he saw no punctures or even major dents. He set it aside. He’d have to open it later, back at camp. 

The song had changed. That was too bad, he’d liked the last one. He didn’t like this one as much. Because he’d never been back home maybe? Well, no one had been nowadays. 

Sighing, the boy sat back on his haunches. Maybe more food was elsewhere in the camp? He’d checked the tables already. All these raiders had was alcohol. How long could you live on that, anyways? He could live a while, probably. He didn’t eat much. He stood up and kicked the cans, pleased with the way they scattered. One knocked into a decrepit building hard enough to send a bit of dust fluttering. The can was flattened. The boy smiled. 

Boy was, perhaps, something of an understatement. He looked anywhere from fourteen to sixteen. Or, so people said. He shoved long, greasy blonde hair out of his face, taking in the landscape. He didn’t see anything moving among the bombed-out buildings. Dog hadn’t made any noises, either. Dog could hear a lot better than he could. 

A dull glint caught his eye. All the ammo he could salvage had already been taken off the raiders, but maybe-- yes, there they were. Two ammo boxes and a grenade box shoved beneath a bit of wood. Striding over, the boy tossed the wood off. Dog was by his side now, wholly uninterested in the wood. That was just as well, it was too big for dog to catch, or even drag.

The first box yielded quite a few eight millimeter bullets. Grinning, the boy tucked them away into some unseen, safe place. It was too bad that the other boxes had nothing especially useful. He took a frag grenade anyway, just in case. 

The camp was decimated. The raiders had already trashed it, and even he would admit that he hadn’t helped its state. One table had been knocked over, and one of the mattresses, already filthy, was now soaked with gore. He was glad he had his own camp. He used to just sleep wherever there was a mattress. 

But, there was nothing useful left to take. The boy rolled his shoulders and started back to camp. The rest could go to the scavengers.  
Dog turned and growled. The boy’s hand went to the sub-machine gun at his hip, and he crouched slightly. Voices rang in the distance. More raiders? 

He could see them now, one tall enough to see his whole head. It peeked above the ruined walls, looking down at his companion. The man didn’t look like a raider. His face wasn’t raider-y enough. 

The two walked past the broken wall. They looked woefully underdressed for the wasteland, with only pre-war clothes. They both carried pistols at their hip. They didn’t even have bags. The boy’s chest began to buzz, not a bad buzz, but odd. He didn’t feel nervous, or even scared. Dog seemed less scared, too. He barked anyways.

The two looked up sharply, the smaller drawing his weapon. He was small, with lighter hair than the boy. He wore green. It might have been a uniform once, but it had been scrapped and mended so many times it was hard to tell. The man looked weary, but not desperate. That was good. Desperate people shot first and true. 

It was the second man that worried the boy. He was big. One of the biggest humans the boy had seen. He wore a long coat. It was impossible to tell just how wide the man really was. He could have anything in that coat. Why else would he be wearing it in the hot wasteland sun? The man simply felt dangerous. Like a Yao Guai. 

Dog didn’t seem worried, though. That was good. Dog was better at reading people than the boy. In fact, Dog had sat down. 

The smaller of the two was staring at him. He had lowered his gun, and was now gaping, seemingly unable to form words. The larger stepped forward. “Excuse me.” 

Cautiously straightening, the boy relaxed his arm. “Yeah?” 

The man was smiling, his companion now staring at the boy. “We’re looking for someone. About yey tall,” He gestured about six inches above the boy’s head, “looks a lot like you?”

The boy shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that. You could ask the Brotherhood.” Looked like him? It had been a while since he had seen his own reflection. Not since Rivet City, at least. 

The man nodded. “I see. Where would they be?” How long had the two been in the capital, that they hadn’t encountered the Brotherhood?

The boy shrugged and pointed north. “That way. Ish.”

The tall man stared for a moment, still smiling. “...Thank you.” The boy nodded. Gesturing to his companion, the tall man turned, carefully stepping over the headless body of one of the raiders as he went. 

It was a moment before the smaller man turned. But as he went, he stopped, looking back. “...You’re sure?” He asked hoarsely. 

The boy nodded. “If it’s anyone really important, the Brotherhood will know.” The man continued to stare. He looked hollow. Finally, he turned and left. 

The boy watched them go, feeling the buzz in his chest fade. Two silhouettes disappeared into the bombed-out city. 

The Capital Wasteland turned and walked back to camp, idly kicking a can as he went. Dog followed.

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind, nations can sense one another. That's the buzzing mentioned. I also imagine America as being alive, though not as America. I imagine him as New Vegas.


End file.
